There were children here yesterday.
I dragged up my old box of Barbie stuff, a mildewy box that is torn at the sides and in the process of falling apart. I confess to being oddly excited; finally, an excuse to go through my old toys! What was in that old box anyway?
The children, a girl of about six and a boy of about four, were equally excited. Fistfuls of Barbie clothes were blithely tossed into the air as we dug down. We discovered Barbies so old their legs and faces had blackened. There were hundreds of tiny things, little pots with lids, a miniature Hamburger Helper box, misplaced Lego pieces.
And there was clothing. Old, old, homemade Barbie doll clothing. I had forgotten how much of my stuff was home made. It's impressive, really. How had my parents done that? That was a little purple paisley sheath dress with a lace ruffle at the bottom; clearly the work of my father. And a tiny little blue and white striped cotton suit, the skirt even had pleats, the jacket had a side pocket; the work of my mother.
They stayed for rather a long time, as Keith was helping their father do his taxes. By the time they left, we had played with almost all the toys I've saved for my own children, including four beautiful picture books I've kept for years.
I went to the woman's clinic last week, since they wanted to see me before renewing my prescription for Clomid. I saw a different doctor, a PA in fact. She looked over the chart and declared that we should skip more Clomid and just go straight to IUI.
Um, what? I told her the previous doctor thought all was well. She consulted briefly with the previous doctor and returned with inconclusive statements. She looked at me like a crazy person when I told her I wasn't sure I wanted to do IUI. She then told me about her sister getting pregnant that way and that I could have "my own" baby very easily by just getting up on the ol' gurney.
Um, excuse me? It bothers me when people assume that I can't possibly consider an adopted child "my own." Like, an adopted child can't possibly be my legitimate child. They assume if I want a child "legit" I'd better go all the way down the infertility rabbit hole. Which I just don't want to do.
Also, there is simply no guarantee that doing an IUI would get me pregnant. That's such a ridiculously simple way of looking at it. If that were true, the IVF people would be out of business and last I checked, that was far from true. I don't care whose sister, friend, sister's friend, friend of a friend got pregnant the first time with Clomid, IUI, or after ten years of IVF. It doesn't mean it will happen for me.
In fact, it hasn't. All those stories about who got pregnant the first time with Clomid? That's not my story. The fact of the matter is, the success rate for IUI is between 15% and 20%.
The whole thing got my head in a bad space. I just felt like she was judging me for not wanting to do everything possible to ensure I had a biological child. It threw me all off. It seems to me that if I pursue adoption, I am definitely going to have a baby, sooner or later. If I pursue infertility treatments, it's all a pricey gamble. I'm not saying it's not worth it to those who really yearn for a biological child, I have no judgment for any couple's decisions, it's what works for their family.
I just think, for me, I don't want to gamble. I do think an adopted child is my "own" child. But now I'm wondering: is it worth it to try IUI just once? But how on earth does one define "worth it"? What does that mean anyway? How does a person make these kinds of decisions? Just thinking about it hurts. Stupid PA.
